


Stainless Steel

by Aradellia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Inspired by Fanart, Inspired by Music, Mila being a kind sister figure, Not so edgy Georgi, Young Victor, my own look into victor's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aradellia/pseuds/Aradellia
Summary: Skater's hearts will always be as fragile as glass, no matter how many times it is shattered, rebuilt, and renamed. Even if you wrap it in steel, and hide the cracks, a skater's heart is, at its core, nothing more then a heart-shaped pile of broken glass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note, just in case: This was written/posted before Episode 9!
> 
> Alright, with that out of the way, onto bigger things. We don't really know about Victor's past, so I wanted to write something for it with what I thought could have happened.

"You're getting sloppy. Again!"

"I can't breathe, Coach Yakov! Give me a moment!"

"I said _again_ , Victor."

"And I said, I can't  **BREATHE!** "

Victor's sudden and defiant shout stalled his other skating mates as he hunched over for breath, ignoring the rising red flush on the face of his clearly angered coach. The few odd skaters on the rink murmured and talked in hushed voices as Victor gasped for breath, his hand on the wall shaking in an effort to keep him upright on the ice. He had been pushing himself for a more rigorous and difficult step sequence for his upcoming Short Program, but it was taking a bigger toll on his body then he thought originally. It was intense and pushed his body to move quicker then normal, with almost ungraceful, choppy movements. His theme, 'Aggression', didn't fit him in the slightest, but Yakov had been insistent in the new theme and the programs, and practically an entirely new Victor Nikiforov.

His old themes were fine. His old style was improving on its own. He didn't quite understand why his coach was so adamant on aggression and masculinity when he worked fine with femininity and grace.

Why the sudden change?

"If you're just going to stand there gasping for breath, at least do it off the ice, _Vitya_."

Victor gently slid his free hand to his throat, trying to find his air. He could hear the worry in his coach's voice, but he still could hear the sharp barb that signaled the lecture to come for snapping like that. When he could finally see straight in front of him, the nausea in his stomach disappearing at least for now, he stood back up straight. He didn't bother looking at Yakov as he slid to the exit, moving his lock silver locks out of his face. He made his way to a bench, and practically threw himself on it. 

"Victor... you alright?"

He finally let his eyes stray upward, catching the kind eyes of Mila as she paused on the wall in front of him. He appreciated her presence, giving her a half-hearted smile before finally finding the will to calm his erratic breath.

"I'll be alright, Mila. I just need a moment."

"You still have a while before the season starts. Why are you going so hard at it?" she asked, briefly looking to Yakov as he barked at Georgi on his double toe loop before moving to the exit as well and approaching Victor.

Victor thought for a moment before giving a bitter laugh. "I guess you can say I'm trying to _'aggressively'_ get started on the new choreography."

Mila heaved a sigh as she sat next to Victor. "I realize it's a cruddy theme, but you can't kill yourself for it, Victor."

He grunted, pulling his hair out of its ponytail, running his fingers through it for a moment. "I don't want to do it in the first place. It doesn't fit me in the slightest. I can only imagine the shock when it's announced."

"Good shock, or bad shock?"

"Most likely bad shock. Everyone knows me from my loving and sensual performances. What will they make of one so violent and awkward? I love the challenge of more difficult step sequences, and a new set up of jumps, but... I can't make this theme work. The music sounds off, the step sequences are fun but it makes me look like I'm just jumping on the toes of my skates."

Mila leaned forward, setting her chin on the heels of her hands. "You do look kinda of silly with the step sequence of your short... have you tried talking with Coach Yakov about changing it at all?"

"I'd rather not get lectured to death for arguing with him, Mila," Victor whined with a pout, "Besides... it's all been paid for and everything, so I just have to do it now."

"Victor..."

"It's alright, Mila," he countered, giving her his signature smile even if it felt like he was forcing himself to even make his lips turn upright, "I appreciate your worry, I really do. I just need some time to get used to the new programs and everything. It's still a bit hard to swallow right now."

He knew he couldn't hide it all from Mila. He knew she didn't buy his downplayed flashy smile in the slightest. Everything then, everything positive and warm, felt forced and awkward to do. He felt violated at how much this change was taking him by the throat and choking the happiness out of him. He wanted to keep up with his gentle and loving themes, the choreography made to make his legs longer, his hair fly, and to make him fell like the most beautiful person. He enjoyed the dual sexuality of his performances, and everyone who watched seemed to do the same. For years now, he had friends make his music for his performances, and he had begun to choreograph his own programs just in the last two years.

Why was Yakov so adamant in changing things when he was at his best?

Was it not enough for the man anymore that Victor had the world in his hands?

Was it because of his age? Could he not pull off the charming and ambiguity he had been going for?

"Victor."

"Ah, Coach Yakov..."

Victor looked up at Yakov as he approached, smiling painfully once again at Mila as she stood and moved around their coach, and skating onto the ice again to practice. Victor stayed seated until Yakov drew closer, standing only when his name was called again. It was on a gentle voice, one Yakov rarely used nowadays.

"Is it time already for another lecture on my actions?"

Yakov shook his head, surprising Victor. "There's no need for one. We need to discuss things in length now, Vitya, about your future on the ice."

"Why do we need to discuss it?"

"You can't keep this child-like performance up much longer. You should know that already. You're getting too old to keep it working for you. I know you would keep it running for as long as you can, but even you must realize that you can't stop your body from changing."

"Yakov..."

"As much as you probably hate it, Victor, it's time to change. You can be the long-haired Russian beauty of the skating world anymore. It got you far, but it will only go so far until you will be forced to change. I'm forcing it now before it's too late and you can't find the way to change it. It's for your own good that you change now and let it happen naturally instead of letting it rot."

Victor's face twisted into one of disgust and distaste. A scowl came on the waves of the pain, forcing him to cover his face for a moment, running his fingers through his hair. It suddenly struck him on what Yakov was saying, pausing to curl his hair through his hand and fingers. His shock made it through to Yakov who sighed and closed his eyes.

"It'll have to go as well. I suggest getting used to the idea of having short hair, Vitya."

"I'm not cutting it, Yakov." Victor pointedly stated.

"You will. You have to change for this sport, Victor, whether you like it or not. You cannot stay frozen in this one place. You will have to change and adapt, meaning you will have to throw your past away to make it happen. We cannot let you sit here in this pretty boy persona while everyone surpasses you. You're at the top of your game, but you will slowly lose it if you stay like this!"

"What does my hair have to do with my career, Yakov?" Victor demanded, his voice raising in volume, "Why does it suddenly matter if my hair is long like this?"

"It cannot be kept this long, Victor! Cut it or else!"

"Tell me why it matters so much, Yakov!"

Victor took a step into his coach's personal space, anger curling his facial features. Yakov stood resolute in front of his student, face as hard and unmoving as stone.

"Your skills as a skater matter in this career, but so does your reputation. You're almost 21 now, Vitya. People will start talking, and once they begin, it won't stop. I'm trying to help you before you drag yourself through the mud because you're too stubborn to realize the reality of this place. Figure skating will break you, so you must break before it destroys you."

Victor chuckled painfully, pushing his hair behind his ear. "So you want to break me into pieces, Yakov? How kind of you."

"You'll come out of it better then before, Vitya. Stop fighting the inevitable, and open your eyes. You have an amazing future here, and I don't want to see you squander it because you're attached to something."

He had heard the words before, again and again. Yakov and his wife, Lillia, spoke of the same thing. One must be willing to break and shatter so they could be remade into something greater from the pieces that remained. It was the unofficial way to train Russian skaters, and other athletes at that. One must be willing to throw everything on the line and be willing to watch it crumble and burn and collapse, and then find strength in the ashes of the past so they could move on a new person into the future.

Victor bit his lower lip for a moment, finding tears building in the corner of his eyes. He couldn't let Yakov, or anyone, see them. His face lowered, shadowed by his hair and the overwhelming pit opening in his stomach.

"...I understand."

The sigh of relief from his coach almost made him want to let them see his tears. "I'm glad you do, Vitya. You can go home. You're done for the day."

"Victor."

He took a deep breath at the sound of his name called again, throwing his head back briefly. The tears that had been threatening to fall disappeared for the moment as he turned his head to the voice calling him, finding now Georgi holding onto the wall. Georgi wasn't one to always talk with Victor, mostly due to what the older assumed was jealousy or competitiveness.

"Georgi. What do you need?"

Georgi's face was oddly soft, seeming to pick up on the depression and sadness clinging to his rinkmate. "I want your opinion on my quad Salchow."

"My opinion? What about Yakov's?"

"I already have it. I wondered if I could get yours before you go."

Victor blinked, confused by the odd outreach for support, but he would do anything for his skating family. A small smile, perhaps more genuine then the others today, came to his face. "Alright. Show me."

For a moment, there was a smile on Georgi's face, and for a moment, Victor forgot about the coming black hole to swallow him to aid in helping Georgi perfect his Salchow.

Mila watched from the other side as Georgi did a quick circuit, flashing a knowing smile to the redhead. She nodded back at him, hiding her smile before beginning her own slow circuit. She kept her eyes on Yakov, who focused in on Georgi as he moved from Victor, his expression hard to read and perhaps for a good reason.

It was worth bribing Georgi to see Victor smile one more time before it disappeared again as he coached Georgi briefly on how to land his quad Salchow without awkwardly landing or overrotating. She knew that she wouldn't get to see a genuine smile from Victor for a long time, mournfully watching him leave the rink a few minutes later and catching the sight of the elder's shoulders shaking as he disappeared into the locker room.

* * *

He didn't know why he wanted to call Yakov this late, but after everything today it felt right despite the time of night. It rang for a few seconds, letting him continue his work, before connecting with a click.

_"What is it?"_

"Sorry for the late call, Yakov. I wanted to talk to you."

_"Victor... what is it that you wanted to talk about? Can it not wait until morning?"_

Victor paused, setting his hands on the bathroom sink before him. He looked at his phone, wondering if Yakov would understand what he wanted. He took a deep breath, expelling the anxiety for a moment before it returned with interest.

"I'd rather ask you now, if that's alright. I know it's late, but I didn't want to sit on it all night. Will you listen?"

The call is silent, perhaps because Yakov was debating whether or not to listen. Victor hid a sniffle behind a sleeve, rubbing his arm across his eyes to stop the tears falling down his face. They hadn't stopped since he got home hours ago, no matter what he did they wouldn't stop burning paths down his cheeks. He went back to work as the silence continued, pausing when a sigh could be heard.

_"Alright, Vitya. I'll listen."_

He heaved a sigh of relief, a sob mixing in to make it sound like he choked on his own air. "Thank you, Yakov. I'll try to make this quick so you can sleep."

_"Don't rush yourself."_

Victor took a moment and muted the call, taking a shuddering breaths to collect himself and cry for a moment longer before unmuting it.

"I want to change the theme of my programs."

_"Victor..."_

"Just listen, please, Yakov," Victor pleaded, "Don't argue with me. Just... let me make my case."

_"...Alright."_

"Thank you. I can't do aggression on the ice. Even with the changes, and the sacrifices, I can't find myself to be so aggressive. It goes against one of the few things that would survive if I broke. I'm a kind-hearted person at heart, Yakov. I'm not one for aggression or violence. I like being the caring older brother to everyone, or the flirtatious man. Being something overly angry and pushy isn't who I am or will ever be. I don't think it's a good way to show I've changed."

Victor took a deep breath again, unable to stop his tears once more. He paused, setting his hands down on the counter once again. He was shaking, almost uncontrollably so, but he could recover enough control to speak without tipping off his coach to his emotional issues.

"I have an idea for a new theme, though. One I think would fit me better, and one that would make the choreography much more meaningful."

_"What is the idea, then?"_

"The new theme... would be 'the loss of innocence'."

Victor let the new theme settle for a moment, hoping he could calm his flipping stomach and wondering if Yakov would say anything. He continued pushing forward, his hands working once again.

"If we change some of the program's more aggressive points, and have it be much more calm but erratic, it would tell a much better story then one of aggression and confusion. It would be one of melancholy and desperation, but it would end not in blood and tears, but with acceptance of the loss and a new beginning. Don't you think it would fit better?"

Vakov was silent for a moment, but his answer was gentle and filled with surprise. _"You've put some thought into this."_

Victor gave a weak chuckle. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. What do you think? Do you think we could run with that idea? I still need some time to work out the story to inspire me, but I have more ideas for a theme like the loss of innocence then I ever would with aggression."

He could hear Yakov hum softly, debating it instead of shooting it down, which brought hope into the emptiness that made up most of his being. It sounded better for him, and the premise for the story he would tell in his skating would reach out to more audiences then one of aggression. He wasn't one for competition or aggressive notions in skating. He loved the graceful steps, and heartbreaking and soaring stories skaters could tell through their programs. The movement of their bodies and feet in tandem with music so perfectly selected could sway any who witnessed it.

He would tell a tale as old as time. One of heartbreak and desolation, desperation and struggle. It would have some semblance of a happy ending.

He felt a real happy ending wouldn't fit the story.

_"Alright, Vitya."_

"Huh?"

_"I'll talk with your choreographer tomorrow and work out a meeting so we can reevaluate your programs to fit this new theme. You'll have to relearn it if we drastically change it."_

Victor nodded. "I'm willing to work harder and longer to perfect it."

_"Good. Is that all for tonight, then?"_

Victor paused, his bottom lip quivering as he resisted the urge to sob. He wanted to cry out his frustrations, and let Yakov know he was a bastard for pushing for all of this. He wanted to scream out that he didn't want to change for the audience, and that he was fine as he was. He wanted to take everything back and return to the old days.

But even he knew he could never have the past back.

"That's all. Thank you for listening, Yakov."

_"Thank you for listening to me for once. Get some rest, Vitya."_

"You too, Yakov."

His voice wavered on the goodbye, and he couldn't hide it. Yakov didn't say anything, and hung up promptly, leaving Victor to stare at his phone screen as his tears cascaded down his face. He had done it, and now he could break down properly knowing he could never go back to what he was before. He sobbed softly before letting his voice loose, elbows propping his face above the bathroom counter.

The scissors he had in his hands slid out of his fingers, and hit the counter top with a loud clank. The impact pushed a few wisps of his hair away, making them float to the ground where it joined more of its brethren. 

He hadn't cut all of it away just yet. He still had a section of his long hair thrown over his left shoulder, yet to be touched. It was all that remained now of the boy he had been, of the man he hoped to become. What had been cut away rested in piles in his sink, on the counter, and on the floor. A few scraps rested on his shoulders, but would not survive there for long. He collected himself enough to look up at the mirror, straightening himself so he could see what he had become.

His face was an ugly tint of red, his face flushed from crying and finally taking a pair of scissors to his precious hair. He looked disheveled and ignorant of the mess his clothes had become.

He was a rightful mess.

He sobbed again, letting the gut-retching sound out as he picked up the scissors once again and took hold of the last remaining long strands of hair that remained attached to his scalp. He could cut it away in one good snip, the remaining handful not too thick for the scissors to cut through.

Not every story ends in happiness, he reminded himself, taking a shuddering breath as he began to cut it away, slowly scissoring through the strands and watching them fall.

Not every story ends in happiness, especially those that begin with the happiest of beginnings.

He whimpered as he cut away the last clinging strands, and brushed them off his shoulder, watching his past fall off of him and onto the floor. He watched with blurring vision as his tears joined his hair that surrounded him like some sickly silver halo. He looked to the mirror, and faced the future that would be the new Victor Nikiforov.

The man who captured the world's heart.

The man who shattered his own heart, and stomped on the shards.

Sometimes, the stories with the brightest beginnings have the most heart-breaking endings.

And he was no exception.


End file.
